


entropy (time runs out)

by ellesmer_joe3



Series: Time and Space in the Big Blue Box [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Coffee and cuddling, F/M, Fluff and Angst, So Married, Spacey married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 10:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17703077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellesmer_joe3/pseuds/ellesmer_joe3
Summary: Clara is still the only mystery worth solving, and the Doctor does so love anachronisms. [Set after The Witch’s Familiar.]





	entropy (time runs out)

Twelve’s hand is still warm and slightly sweaty from where the child Davros held him; he barely refrains from rubbing his palm against his pants leg. Taking deep breaths, he twists the ring on his finger around and around in an effort to remain calm. Moments from his altercation with Davros on Skaro flash in his mind, the words they’d shared echoing in his skull, like cries of ghosts.

_Compassion, then. It grows strong and fierce in you, like a cancer._

_I hope so._

_It will kill you in the end._

_I wouldn’t die of anything else._

The Daleks would have been created regardless of the Doctor’s decision in saving the child Davros. Time and space were damned either way. But he’d needed to plant the concept of mercy in Davros—for Clara.

Always Clara.

The stench of smoke and rotting Daleks colors the Doctor’s senses with a strong kind of despondency; it hits him as soon as he steps out of the TARDIS. He aches for Clara, aches for her smile and her warmth, and their banter that never fails to soothe his frayed nerves. He is always jittery these days, it seems. She makes him focus, quiets his thoughts until they are mere whispers.

He finds her sitting beneath the shadow of a large boulder, legs pulled up to her chest, head between her knees.

Twelve rushes to her side, quickly placing the sonic over his eyes and inspecting her from head to toe. She has a few bruises and a mild concussion, but what concerns him most is the abnormally high level of activity in her brain—too high for anyone with a concussion to be having.

“Clara,” he says, his voice rising with urgency. “Clara, get up.”

She raises her head and glares at him. “Don’t tell me we’re still in danger.”

“I’m not, but you might be. You’ve got a considerably high amount of hormones in your system right now, not to mention your brain activity—”

“Because I’m _scared,_ Doctor! I’ve been travelling with Missy all day! Do you know what she’s done?” Her voice trembles. “She Time-stopped 4 thousand airborne planes and killed two UNIT men—to get my _attention_. Then she abducted me, nearly got me killed, _hung me upside down_ , dropped me down a Dalek manhole, threatened me with a stick—”

Twelve steps forward with his hands in front of him, as if approaching a wounded animal. He just needs to calm her down. Even with just a mild concussion, he can’t risk her getting too worked up.

It is no use. She pushes off the ground and backs away from him, stumbling slightly. Her eyes glisten with tears. He looks afraid of him and that, apart from anything else, is what makes him stop in his tracks.

Clara angrily forges on, oblivious to the hurt on his face. “She chained me to a wall, used me as bait, and plugged me into a Dalek! She… She nearly made you _kill_ me!”

“I never would have, Clara. If I’d known it was you, I never would have.”

“And then—and then all of a sudden you left me here…”

The fire in her dies out all at once. She drops her head and stumbles forward, where the Doctor stands ready; in a second he lifts her into his arms. He feels her breathing shallowly against the skin of his neck, just below his jaw.

“I was so scared for you,” she whispers.

“Clara.” He keeps his voice soft, the single word murmured near her ear. Like a promise. “Let’s get you home.”

He carries her into the big blue box waiting for them. The TARDIS chirps in welcome, even goes so far as to move Clara’s room closer to the console room. Twelve lays Clara onto the bed and pulls the sheets up, tucking them tight around her. Her eyes are closed and her breathing even. She’s completely out of it.

In the console room, he gives the TARDIS a little pat and a stroke. “Thank you, old girl.” She hums in reply. Without another word, the Doctor inputs the coordinates for Clara’s house and waits. He delays no longer than he needs to, moving Clara out of the TARDIS and into her own bedroom. He removes her shoes and her socks, cleans her face up a bit. He can’t do anything else. The concussion will go away on its own with some rest, and the Doctor, though still frightened beyond belief, is fairly certain that there won’t be any withdrawals from her brief stay inside the Dalek. In a foreign environment such as Clara’s body, the nanotech in her blood would simply burn out.

The Doctor gives Clara another scan with the sonic. Her brain activity and vital signs have all returned to normal. Reassured, Twelve enters the TARDIS once more and jumps into space. Nowhere in particular. Just floating and spinning, and continuing existence. He climbs onto the top of the police box and stares at the vast darkness before him.

He needs to think.

.

When he does return to Earth, he isn’t sure how many days have passed in Clara’s timeline. She doesn’t seem too angry with him, so it can’t have been that long. She even invites him out for coffee, an offer he is in no position to refuse.

And so they find themselves sitting together in a quaint little coffee shop, staring at each other, reminding the Doctor of the time before Christmas when both of them had lied for the sake of the other’s happiness. A mistake, surely. Twelve no longer knows how to live without Clara. He would surely become nothing.

She is the first to break the silence.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” she says. “I was… upset.”

“If you hadn’t been upset, there would’ve been something extremely wrong with you.”

“Why’d you leave for so long?”

Davros’ face floats before the Doctor’s eyes. _Like a cancer_.

“I needed to clear my head,” says the Doctor. “Didn’t want myself snapping at you for no reason.”

“Two weeks and you still haven’t gotten it off your back?”

His mouth twitches upwards. “Two weeks isn’t a long time for a Time Lord, Clara. Not a long time at all.”

The battle rages on inside him. She senses it, she must, because then she is calling the waiter and asking him to package their coffee for takeout.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” Clara says, looking up at Twelve with a hint of that spark in her eye. “Show me something… special.”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “Companion’s choice?”

“No. You pick. Just… promise me, Doctor. No monsters. No wars. Just quiet. For me.”

Of course.

_For Clara._

.

He takes her to see a galaxy being born—all gas clouds and dust, and lumps of matter that will eventually bunch together to form the Andromeda Galaxy. It is perfectly safe to watch everything from within the TARDIS doors. Twelve brings out the couch and he and Clara sit together, watching stars clump and form, sipping coffee.

But the stillness, like most things, couldn’t last forever.

“You were going to die.” Clara tilts her head so that the full weight of her stare settles on him. “You left that arena fully expecting it. Why?”

The Doctor meets her gaze unflinchingly. “Is that so bad? Wanting something for myself?”

“It’s selfish, Doctor.”

“Selfish… Still selfish. Even after everything I’ve done.”

He sighs and turns away from her. It isn’t a sigh of anger. More than anything, it is of resignation. Acceptance. And, perhaps, a bit of weariness.

_There is no rest for the wicked._

“I had lost all hope while I was in that Dalek, you know,” Clara suddenly says, startling the Doctor from his thoughts. “I really thought you were going to kill me. I was screaming at you, nonetheless. Praying you’d hear me.”

He recalls that day. Anything she could have been saying from within the Dalek had been translated into the only words that the Daleks understood: war.

“And what did you say?” He is curious.

“You know.”

He looks at her. She blinks and returns his astonished look with a fond one of her own. “Surely you know.”

There is _that_ look in her eye, and _that_ smile. The one that makes her squint and brings about the dimples in her cheeks. The one that makes his hearts ache.

“Yes,” says Twelve. “I must know.”

They share a knowing look. Wordlessly, Clara takes his coffee away and places their mugs off to the side. She snuggles close to him and lays her head on his chest. He hesitates upon wrapping his arm around her, though mostly for show. She laughs against him and the vibrations of it shake him to the very core.

Before they leave, he captures a pinch of Andromeda’s essence and places it into a circular vial. He offers it to her as a gift on her birthday, now with a thin chain attached to it. A necklace. If he is lucky, which is rare, he will catch her running her thumb over it, clutching it close to her chest. A tiny galaxy dangling near her heart, so she would never forget, and neither would he.

_Always Clara._


End file.
